|Jerry speaks. Photo either taken by an extremely tiny human|
or the angle was calculated to make Jerry appear magisterial, Olympian,
Actually . . . I'm not a Cowboys season ticketholder, but I was in office of a rather prominent Cowboys fan trying to sell him some sodbusting services and he invited me to hang around and listen to the call. This guy is a huge fan – he owns a fair amount of the old Cowboys Stadium – and is very sophisticated about matters football. He's owned season tickets for decades.
He's furious at Jerry Jones.
After the call, he's still furious.
Entirely understandable. The call was a put-up job.
When my host wasn't speaking to me, he was talking back to the speakerphone. "Listen to that," he said, incredulous. "It's coach-talk. He hangs out with coaches and thinks he understands football, but he doesn't." Indeed, what I heard of the call – about a half-hour of it – was jargon-filled and sounded ludicrous coming from the mouth of someone who is supposed to be a general manager. The voice betrayed the type we've all encountered, the guy who knows a little but not quite enough to realize how ignorant he is.
Oh, but the best was yet to come. The "call-in questions."
My companion had put himself in the cue to ask a question, and was advised that there were callers ahead of him in the low four figures. At one point during the call, however, a voice broke in and asked my host what his question was. The voice was very polite and respectful, friendly. My host asked his question – a solid, knowledgeable respectful question about the offensive line – and the guy said wow, what a great question, I hope they get to you, and that was the end of that.
Then there were the calls.
Confessors, if all you knew about the Cowboys fan was based on the couple handfuls of questions they got to yesterday, you would swear that Jerry is universally beloved, highly respected by fans. A majority of the calls I heard were taken were from out-of-town fans. What they were doing with their season tickets was unclear. One I heard was from a woman who giggled and flirted and couldn't believe she was speaking to The Great Man. All of the questions, without exception, were beach balls to be batted back into the mesosphere on the wings of Jerry's garbled rhetorical flights. Nothing even remotely challenging.
It couldn't have been more clear – either Jerry had instructed the screeners not to let through any of the countless angry fans, or the screeners know where their butts are breaded and ensured that no typical season ticketholders got through.
Proof: I swear on my sainted Mother's Beasley Reece jersey -- one of the first callers thanked him for the three Super Bowl rings and the new stadium.
At the end of the call, auditors were invited to record their question after the beep. Now those would have been worth hearing.
If the call was intended to placate angry Cowboys fans, it was not only a failure, it was the next-in-line of the hundreds of exhibits to the indictment of the clownish administration of this once-respected franchise.
|Why is this man smiling?|
* * *
I've got a theory of why the Cowboys' business continues to thrive in the face of this incompetence. I can summarize it in one sentence. The theory is wrong, quite wrong, I'm certain, but I like it so remind me in a week or so to write about it.